


Heatwave

by CasablancaInTheTardis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aurors, But mostly because Hogwarts has many gaps in its curriculum, Debauchery, Draco is a history nerd, Draco likes to abide by proper uniform codes, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Harry knows nothing, Harry likes to stare at Draco, I digress - Freeform, London, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Seriously the English education system is broken, Smut, smutty cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 04:04:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20090992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasablancaInTheTardis/pseuds/CasablancaInTheTardis
Summary: Draco and Harry try to survive London’s most recent heatwave by escaping to the air-conditioned British Library and end up with no clothes on. In a sexy way. Semi-public debauchery and Harry going a bit melty over Draco ensues. Explicit.





	Heatwave

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired during last week’s London heatwave when I couldn’t find any airconditioning except in the British Library. I was having writers block so my sister suggested Drarry set in the heatwave and said ‘10 bucks if they end up naked’ and here we are...  
(The graphic stuff was very tricky to write - there is lots of better smut out there so if you don’t like this, feel free to read other PWP and pretend it came at the end of this fic)

“This is ridiculous! Since when does it ever get above 30 degrees in London?”

Harry rolled his eyes. This was the fifth time Draco had complained about the same thing in the last twenty minutes. If the magical maintenance department didn’t fix the weather charms (namely the cooling system) in their cramped office soon, the DMLE would be investigating an entirely preventable homicide. And that would be such a waste of a pretty face.

“For the last time, Malfoy, we can’t do anything about the weather so kindly shut the fuck up about it,” Harry growled from behind his mountain of paperwork. He himself was not coping so well in the third straight day of hot weather, which made out of office investigations nigh unbearable. He was therefore both bored out of his mind and frustrated by the continued whining from his colleague, not to mention sweaty in places that ought not be sweaty!

“And why the fuck don’t cooling charms work in this cesspit of an office? Who decided to put a dampener on all climate-control charms in this subterranean hell hole? Whose bright idea was that? Some jumped up, poorly-educated twit from maintenance who wanted to ensure constant work for himself, I’m sure. If I knew who it was, I’d-”

“You’d what? Write them a strongly worded letter? Don’t forget you’re on probation.”

“Yes, thank you for that, saint Potter. Whatever would I do without you here to keep an eye on me?” Draco replied, voice dripping sarcasm in much the same way the his brow was dripping with sweat.

Had Harry not been so preoccupied with not melting, he would’ve probably thought that heat-stroke Malfoy was quite an attractive sight. The pink flush sat well on his high cheekbones, and the slight dampness to his hair made it an even more attractive golden blond colour.

Moreover, the git had taken off his auror robes (something he never did, even in the comfort of his own office) and Harry was confronted with the sight of Malfoy’s pale forearms in rolled-up shirtsleeves, which was really quite a lot to deal with. Had he been looking, which he hadn’t.

“It’s not my fault you punched Johnson,” Harry shrugged. “You could’ve talked to him like a normal person but apparently that would be asking too much.”

“You know I didn’t mean to punch him, he just has one of those faces.”

“I’ve seen his face and, startlingly, managed never to punch him in it.”

“Yes, well, we don’t all have a saviour’s restraint, do we?”

“What did he say that set you off, anyway?”

“We’re not talking about this Potter. Hasn’t your brain melted out your ears yet, anyway? There’s not much of it so I’m sure it wouldn’t take long.”

“Very funny,” Harry deadpanned, picking up a hefty file and using it to fan his face. He was sick of his glasses sliding down his nose.

Draco smirked, “See - I knew the heat was pissing you off, too.”

“Well what do you suggest we do about it, then?” Harry snapped, sick of this day, this heat, his clothes.

“We could go out? Do some investigating in a nice, cold place.”

“Where do you suggest?”

“Any cases that could take us to Antarctica?” Draco replied earnestly. “I could do with some icy vistas.”

“Shockingly, no.”

Draco raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Heat heightens your sarcasm levels, does it?”

“If that were true, this heat would make me as sarcastic as you.”

“Stay focused, I’m melting, and I’m far too young to die especially by something as mundane as heat stroke.”

“What about air conditioned buildings in London?”

“You mean the ones that produce their own cold air?”

“Yes, muggle-phobe, that is what air-conditioning does.”

“I’m not a muggle-phobe anymore,” Draco pouted.

“Well, there’s always the Tate, but that will probably be heaving with tourists and children-”

“No thank you,” Draco interjected.

“There’s also the many department stores that lure people in with the cold - Liberty, Selfridges, etc.”

“But we would again face the impediment of being around other people, which I don’t much fancy.”

“The British Library could be a goer? We can always use the reference books for some of the boring cases,” Harry shrugged, looking up from his desk.

Draco was already gathering his things, not needing any convincing, even though a) he couldn’t think of any cases for which they would need muggle reference books and b) he was sure there must be other, less-populated buildings in London which had a cooling system. Of course, he was wrong on that point. London is not equipped for hot weather in the slightest.

One swift side-along and the wizards were standing outside of the frankly unimpressive red brick monolith that was the British Library.

Harry had also ditched his auror robes, and both men were wearing clothes that would be commonplace on a muggle high street - Harry in a faded green button down shirt and his black auror trousers, Draco in his fitted white shirt rolled to the elbows, and black skinny jeans (which had Harry thinking about filthy things, and simultaneously thinking that it was no small wonder Draco wasn’t coping in the heat).

Before he had time to further process that particular train of thought, Draco was already striding up the steps, through the atrium area where tourists were milling about, and taking a sharp left into the ‘treasures’ permanent display. Harry followed because he had nothing better to do and he feared he may melt otherwise.

He followed Draco into the tastefully darkened room, filled with glass display cases containing some the world’s most important pieces of writing. There were original Beatles lyrics, a letter from Jane Austen to her brother, a manuscript of Shakespeare’s plays that, if lost, may’ve result in the loss of a third of his works - the impressive list goes on. Draco was standing in front of a letter from war poet Wilfred Owen/Siegfried Sassoon, though, an odd expression on his face.

“Do you know much about the Great War, Potter?” he asked softly (after all, they were in a library).

“What, the first time Voldemort-“

“No, you dunce. The Great War. Also known as World War One? 1914 to 1918 - ring any bells?”

Harry shook his head because of course it didn’t - he’d left for Hogwarts at age 11 and his muggle schooling had been woefully inadequate when it came to most things, truth be told. Draco sighed a long suffering sigh and muttered something which sounded like ‘how are we friends?’ Before explaining.

“It was the largest war the world had ever seen up to that point, and it was called the Great War because it involved most of Europe. Of course, some of our lot were involved, but there’s not a lot you can do without a wand against tanks or trench foot or mustard gas, and the ministry were completely inflexible when it came to the statute of secrecy.”

  
Harry wasn’t sure what half these things were, but he gathered they weren’t good.

“My family weren’t involved, obviously, weren’t interested in what the muggles were getting up to. But it killed millions of people. Young men from all over Britain signed up to fight - for king and country, and all that rot - and were sent to France or Belgium or Turkey to die. They thought it would be an adventure. The papers said the war would be over by Christmas, but by then they were all drowning in mud or having limbs blown off by shells.”

“How do you know so much about it?”

“I read,” Draco replied, still looking through glass at the letter in front of them.

“Why do you know so much about it?” Harry said gently. A pause.

“I feel like I can relate, in a way,” Draco replied, a slight crease forming between his eyebrows. “I know I was on the definitive wrong side in our war, but here there was no right or wrong, just people signing up for what they were taught was important - which I get - unaware of the dangers or the destruction... I don’t know. It just fascinates me.”

“I suppose there’s something romantic about that idea. Fighting and giving your life for an ideal-”

“Yes, well that is an unbearably Gryffindor take on a world crisis,” Draco replied dryly.

“So why are you looking at this bit of scrap paper?”

“It’s a first draft from one of of the most renowned war poets from the time. Read what he’s saying.”

“Handwriting’s a bit tricky-”

Draco refrained from commenting on the hypocrisy of that statement and read “what funeral bells for those who die so fast? Only the monstrous anger of the guns... what candles may we hold for these lost souls? ... It goes on a bit about how those who died will be remembered or forgotten at their funerals by those they left behind. It’s unbearably sad, really.”

“Why do you like it, then?”

“Because it’s unbearably sad, obviously,” Draco grinned, and Harry wondered if the blond man’s brain had melted and leaked out his ears.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure we ring the bells at your funeral.”

“Can’t tell if that’s a promise or a threat of imminent death,” Draco smiled.

Harry was struck by just how pretty Draco really was this close. It would be quite disconcerting if not for the fact that Harry had spent the better part of the last two years noticing these things about Draco. And befriending him. And learning how he liked his tea (black with lots of sugar). And being frustrated by his anal-retentive filing system at work. And being impressed by his commitment to making their community safer - the list goes on, and Harry probably would continue with this mental checklist if not for the fact that this brain-melting heat had helped him to take leave of his senses.

“You know, we did come in here to cool down and so far all you’ve done is given me a History lesson.”

“It’s hardly my fault you know nothing about anything, Potter.”

“And while it’s nice and chilly in here,” Harry pressed on, “there are far too many muggles to do any sort of case work or whatnot.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Why don’t we try the King’s reading room?” Harry said, consulting the venue map he’d grabbed on their arrival.

“I don’t think the public are allowed in there,” Draco replied with a shrug.

“Exactly,” Harry said with an uncharacteristic wink, grabbing Draco’s wrist and apparating (in blatant disregard for the statute of secrecy, it is to be noted, Draco thought).

“Wow!”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, although he was not looking at the books.

“Look at all of these,” Draco enthused, reaching out but not daring to touch some of the ancient tomes. Harry tried not to go melty at the open innocence on Draco’s face - something rarely seen by mere mortals, he was sure.

“Surely you have a library at the Manor,” Harry said, loosening the top button of his shirt because he was still uncomfortably warm.

“Yes, but this is a King’s library, Potter. It belonged to actual royalty. I mean, mad King George the Third, but royalty all the same. Think of all the history these books have seen or recorded. Think about how few people get to see them. This is special.”

“If you say so,” Harry shrugged. “It’s not as cold as I would’ve liked.”

“It’s fine,” Draco said, still distracted by the massive number of leather-bound, gold-edged books at his fingertips.

“It’s fine?” Harry repeated incredulously. “You were nagging me non-stop back at the office about how there’s no way it’s ever been this hot before and how you would simply die if ‘that prick’ from maintenance didn’t fix the cooling, and now you’re fine?”

“Our office is stuffy,” Draco said evasively.

“Malfoy,” Harry growled, now reaching his wits end and - truth be told - wanting to provoke some sort of confrontation. He could maybe blame the heat. “You did not drag me halfway across London because our office is stuffy.”

“I just needed space,” Draco said, eyes flicking to Harry’s open collar and back to the shelf in front of him. “It was distracting.”

“What, our office?” Harry said, confused.

“Yes, sure. That.”

“What do you mean ‘yes, sure, that’? Why are you being weird?”

“Well that’s rich,” Draco said, turning to face Harry, hands on hips. “You’ve been looking at me funny all day.”

“What? That’s not true!” Harry lied, feeling his cheeks get impossibly redder.

“Yes it is. Ever since the temperature hit ‘unbearable’ you’ve been staring,” Draco said, pointing and accusatory and, no doubt, talented finger at Harry.

“Well it’s not my fault you’re blatantly breaking the dress code,” the accused replied, throwing his hands in the air.

“You break it every day!”

“I know!”

“Okay!”

There was a not quite uncomfortable, but definitely charged silence for a moment, before Harry decided to break it.

“Well, I’m too hot, so excuse me while I break more dress codes,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt. He was pleased by the shock that crossed Draco’s face at this announcement, and vindicated by the unchecked interest in his gaze as he shrugged the shirt off his shoulders. Harry decided to push his luck.

“You’re still looking a little warm, Malfoy. Take off your shirt.”

“I beg your pardon?” Draco replied, posh accent going up an octave or so.

“I said: Take. Off. Your. Shirt.” Harry punctuated each word with a step towards Draco, so that he was crowding him up against a shelf of dark red leather books.

Draco looked like he might protest for half a second - the shock of being ordered to undress in a semi-public place clearly warring with his desire to comply (Harry Potter could be quite commanding when he tried). Then he gave in, long pale fingers undoing the buttons of his too-tight shirt.

Harry couldn’t help but stare as inch after inch of pale, smooth skin was revealed and he reached out to touch it but, like Draco had done earlier with the books, stopped shy of contact, out of reverence for something bordering on perfection. That is until Draco leaned forward a little and closed the gap between them, Harry’s index finger brushing against his sternum, then lower.

Draco’s skin was warm but not clammy, and Harry had suspicions that this was an entirely different sort of heat they’d generated.

“What now?” Draco asked, gaze fixed somewhere over Harry’s shoulder, clearly not trusting himself to look Harry in the eye.

“I can think of a few things,” Harry said in a low voice, gratified when Draco’s eyes finally flicked up to meet his, “But none of them will cool us down.”

Draco was the first to move but an onlooker wouldn’t be able to tell because as soon as he started to lean up to Harry, the taller man leaned forwards and their mouths came together in a crashing of lips and tongue and teeth. Draco’s hands immediately went for Harry’s birds nest of hair, fingers twisting in the dark strands and tugging urgently, angling their mouths towards a better fit. Harry’s hands grasped Draco possessively: one at the nape of his neck, the other at the small of his back, pulling their bodies closer together.

Draco sucked on Harry’s full bottom lip, relishing the salty taste of his skin and the noise that Harry made in response before kissing him back thoroughly. Draco couldn’t help the moan that escaped his mouth when he felt Harry rubbing his hardened cock against Draco’s own, and wondered vaguely why they still had their trousers on. Harry’s hand moved from Draco’s back to his ass, warm hand cupping his left cheek and using the leverage to force their groins together in a delicious rocking motion, breaking the kiss to focus.

Draco relinquished his grip on Harry’s hair and used his hands to steady himself against the shelf behind him, leg hitching up without his permission for better access, but it wasn’t enough.

“Fuck,” Harry exhaled, pupils dark and intense as he examined Draco, his chest splotched red with heat and heaving.

“Not at this rate,” Draco managed to quip, and Harry was impressed that he could manage that many syllables when he was clearly on the edge.

“Christ, you’re gorgeous,” Harry said, accidentally out loud, losing his rhythm somewhat as he took in the absurdity and wonder of the moment. At the loss of focus, Draco let out an adorable little growl from the back of his throat.

“I’m letting you defile me in a library of all places, you could have the decency to finish the job!”

Harry actually chuckled at that and, to prove a point, took a step away from Draco, who seemed to whimper slightly at the loss of contact. But Harry wasn’t finished - not by a long shot. He reached out and brushed his hand over the obscene bump in Draco’s trousers, earning a shudder from the other man. He unbuttoned then unzipped the trousers, peeling them down (damn skinny jeans), revealing cotton briefs with a pronounced damp patch.

For his part, Draco was watching with rapt attention - at last unable to make any witty/annoying/snide comments. When Harry dropped to his knees in front of Draco, it was all that Draco could do not to come in his pants then and there.

Green eyes fixed on grey, Harry leaned forward to nuzzle at Draco’s crotch, before pressing a kiss to his balls through the cotton. Draco’s hands were once more clutching the wood behind him in an effort to stay upright. Harry must surely know how sinful he looks in the position, looking up at Draco through his lashes, as he removes the underwear and licks from base to tip in one wet stripe. And then, suddenly, he had taken Draco down in one swallow, causing him to toss his head back as it sent waves of pleasure through his body. Harry’s mouth bobbed up and down in well-practice movements, and when he gave a low hum of enjoyment, the vibrations made Draco cry out in pleasure.

The pressure, the heat, the indecent slurping noises were almost too much - within seconds Draco could feel himself hurtling towards the edge, the only warning he was able to give was a strangled “Harry,” which resulted in the aforementioned man pulling his mouth away with a wet ‘pop’ just as Draco was about to finish. Harry could see him throbbing with need and almost felt bad for stopping.

He stood up quickly, not wanting to deny Draco too much longer and annoy him so much that this never happened again - this definitely had to happen again! (Though maybe not in a public library)

With a deftness that would’ve impressed Draco had he not just been denied an incredible orgasm, Harry shucked his trousers and boxers, gripping his own hard length and taking a few quick strokes. He came to stand right up in Draco’s personal space - Draco whose brain seemed to be on flight mode as he watched the scene in front of him unfold - and said into his ear “touch yourself.”

Draco complied immediately, pale fingers looking pearlescent against the dark flush of his engorged cock. Harry had one hand again at the nape of Draco’s neck, and he was leaning forward slightly so their foreheads were touching, both engrossed in watching the others movements. They could feel each other’s heat, knuckles brushing against each other once or twice. It only took two or three strokes before Draco was coming in long spurts all over his own hand and Harry, who moaned and, using Draco’s come as lubricant, came right after, body shuddering spectacularly.

Before either of them hand a chance to feel embarrassed or uncomfortable, Draco leaned forward to capture Harry’s mouth in another kiss. This one was slower and gentler than before, and Harry could’ve done a little jump for joy at the fact that Draco had been the one to initiate it.

After a few minutes, Harry could feel his ridiculously eager cock starting to stir again - just from kissing - and decided to be sensible about this. Pulling back, he surveyed Draco once more. The man was an absolute wreck - still flushed across the chest, now somewhat covered in drying semen, hair completely rumpled - and yet it was probably the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen. That could be the endorphins talking, or the brain-melting heat, but Harry was happy to run with it nonetheless.

“So... that was brilliant.”

Draco let out a small laugh. “Quite.”

“Uh, why haven’t we been doing that the whole time?” Harry grinned, tossing Draco his trousers as he gathered his own things.

“Because you prefer to stare at people in the most obvious way until said people get fed up waiting and decide to give in.”

“I beg your pardon? I didn’t stare,” Harry lied again, like a liar.

“Please, Potter, you couldn’t have been more obvious. But I - as a professional - could not act on it in a ministry building.”  
Harry laughed out loud, the absurdity of the whole situation making him giddy.

“So you’re saying you tricked me out of our office so that you could seduce me and we could get each other off?”

“I think you’ll find you did the seducing. I’m on probation, remember? I couldn’t risk doing anything that might get me into trouble,” he smirked, as he slipped his shirt back on, not bothering to button it.

“You are such a Slytherin sometimes!”

“All the time, I hope. Now let’s get back to the office. With any luck, that idiot from maintenance will have fixed the cooling by now.”

“And if he hasn’t?” Harry asked suggestively.

“If he hasn’t, then I guess I’ll be working naked. And you’ll just have to try to control yourself.”

“Is that a challenge, Malfoy?” Harry said, quirking an eyebrow.

“If you’re up to it,” he replied, emphasising ‘up’ with a flick of his gaze to Harry’s crotch. His traitorous cock stirred in his pants just at the thought of sitting across a cool wooden desk from this gorgeous man, with or without clothes. Oh, the things they could do on that desk!

“Ugh, you’re going to be the death of me, Malfoy,” Harry groaned.

“That’s if this heatwave doesn’t kill us first. Come on, Potter,” Draco said with a smirk, yanking Harry in close for a side-along, “We’ve got work to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> It’s worth noting that London really is ill-equipped for any kind of temperature above 30 degrees Celsius. Global warming is real and we should do something about it!! Also while I was at the British Library, I got stung by a bee. Stay safe, kids. Also, please leave a review if you have time. THANKS! <3


End file.
